


these bones will sing

by jessewrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, canon character death, lots of Deep Metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:05:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3989284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessewrites/pseuds/jessewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grief can be honed, sharpened like a knife, a claw, an arrow turned silver by the moon.<br/>-</p>
<p>You try shooting like she did. You’ll never be a hunter and you’ll never be as good as her but you think she would like this, you in the woods with her old bow and a silver arrowhead cold between your collarbones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these bones will sing

 

Allison says to Scott: "Lydia? Is Lydia okay?" 

[she gasps your name, blood pooling in scott's hand, and you feel like it's you dying. 

it should be you dying] 

Allison says to Scott: "I’m in the arms of my first love. The person I’ll always love. Scott McCall, I love you." 

[you want it to feel okay. you want to tell yourself that she's okay, that it doesn't hurt, because you heard her say it. 

you listen to her talk. you listen to her gasp for breath that’s not coming, that’s never coming. you listen to your first love. the only person you'll ever love. allison argent, a girl born with silver in her veins and gold in her heat.]

 There is no funeral, no memorial, no wake. Chris tells you that it’s against the code. 

[you wanted to give her the world but you would have settled for a eulogy, tears salting the earth like penance for her death] 

Derek sees flames whenever his eyes flash redbluegold and Argent sees his family every time he takes a shot. Grief can be honed, sharpened like a knife, a claw, an arrow turned silver by the moon. 

[you hear the voices of the dead and dying in your head but the only one you care about is silent. and if your tears can’t salt the earth then you will, leave it scorched and aching in your wake. you want to become a weapon of death too.] 

You try shooting like she did. You’ll never be a hunter and you’ll never be as good as her but you think she would like this, you in the woods with her old bow and a silver arrowhead cold between your collarbones. You feel like you are finally hers. 

[“try the mongolian draw,” you said, and you were trying so hard to be there for her and you knew that she didn’t buy that you just knew it. she was the only one that was smart enough to figure you out, almost.] 

Breathe in. Draw back. Remember seeing this a thousand times, but only remember the hands. You can’t remember the face yet without seeing blood and fear and “I love you, Scott McCall.” Breathe out. Release. Miss. 

[she looks so beautiful with her eyes closed in concentration, mouth just barely open and eyebrows furrowed. but she opens them and all you can see is fear. you would have let her shoot you if that’s what she wanted. that should terrify you and it does, you’re gasping and wide-eyed but it’s only because she looks the same way, panicked and horrified. you would have let her.]

 You need to find your own weapon. You don’t want a gun and you can’t look at swords, either. For now you have Stiles’ old baseball bat and no clue what the hell you’re doing. Allison would’ve laughed. You would have too if she was alive.

  

Her father gives you an arrowhead, one of the silver ones Allison had crafted herself. You touch it reverently; it is holy, all that’s left of her, and it is not to be tainted by fingerprints or dust.

 You don’t deserve it and you know this, but there’s something about the way you can almost hear her voice when you hold it to your cheek. 

You might be imagining things. 

[the first time you saw her she took your breath away. the last time she saw you, she couldn’t breathe either. it’s kind of funny.] 

Sometimes you go to the cemetery and you sit in front of her grave and you talk. You’re not sure if you’re talking to Allison, or God, or yourself, but you let it out anyways. You finger the arrowhead now hanging from a chain around your neck. Somehow, you think you might be okay. 

After a while you learn how to shoot, more or less. You rarely get bulls-eyes like she always did, but you didn’t miss every time anymore. 

You still talk to her. You tell her that Scott’s doing okay, he’s found someone and he’s happy, which is all she ever wanted. You tell her that you’re doing okay, too. You’re stronger now; sharper, too. 

You don’t think you’re lying anymore. 

[somewhere (heaven? hell?) you swear you hear her voice. she would be proud of what you’ve become, you think.]

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i might have co-written this with rachel sarhamanninq but it's been sitting in my drafts so long i honestly don't remember oops
> 
> anyway! thanks for reading! kudos/comments are appreciated 8)


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